Lady Alienore
by M.P-chan
Summary: During the Crusades, when France and England were still young, a noblewoman was born. She eventually became the queen of both countries, and her influence would forever change their destinies. Her name was Eleanor of Aquitaine. Fr/El/Ar


**M.P-chan:** I've really been wanted to do this for awhile. A fanfiction series on the life of Eleanor of Aquitaine who was a duchess who became the Queen of France, and later, the Queen of England. Ridiculously beautiful and clever she manipulated politics with general ease and became the most powerful woman in all of Europe, and it's easy to imagine her running Francis and Arthur ragged. Anyway, please enjoy what's bound to be a rocky ride!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or anything else for that matter. Also, be aware that there will be plenty of historical errors. I have only one book on Eleanor (it's the only book I have on that time period as well and I found it in random storage where it's been half destroyed by what looks like a flood) and my research will be limited to that and wikipedia so please forgive any huge errors.

**Notes:** Episode 46 takes place in the 1000s where England is portrayed as a child and France as a teenager (it's the skit where Arthur has Francis cut his hair), and in episode 10 they are both portrayed as their full grown adult selves (Francis as 26 and Arthur as 23) in the 100 Years War (1300s-1400s). Eleanor of Aquitaine lived from 1122 to 1204 (during the Crusades) and I have decided to show Francis around age 20 and Arthur around age 15.

**Lady Alienore - Prologue**

Looking back, Arthur had met a great many people throughout his existence, and by extension had loved a great many people. But without a doubt in his mind, his first love had to have been Alfred. No, not that insufferable idiot. He'd never love him. Not anymore. Not within anyone's earshot. Even when drunk.

No, that first love belonged to Alfred of Wessex, a very early boss of his who had given him his first taste of glory and pride as a young nation. He had loved Alfred the same way Gilbert loved Old Fritz, the way Ivan had loved Sophia, and the way a certain young boy his conscious liked to forget had loved a certain Duke of Saxony.

Arthur had been very young when Alfred had been alive, and his love had been what you would have expected from someone with his life experience. It hadn't been true love. It hadn't even been passionate love. But it had been a very strong admiration and affection that had continued on long after Alfred's death even into the present day. It was no wonder that when Arthur adopted that innocent, beautiful child (who would have guessed he'd grow into such an ingrate?), he knew from the very beginning what he would name him.

Alfred hadn't been the only person he'd developed a strong fondness for over the years. He'd had a great many favorites: some bosses, countless writers, various musicians, and many colorful personalities. But there was one . . . No, he hadn't loved her. He hadn't even liked her. He'd even hated her. But he'd certainly been fascinated by her. That wine bastard too. They'd both lost to her in the end.

It was strange thinking back on it now, but that woman was one of the common threads that held him and Francis together over the years, though they usually liked to pretend she hadn't existed and they never talked of her. It was like an unspoken law. They traded blows and insults and had been fond of bringing up their old history, but that woman had been one of the notable exceptions.

Arthur carefully set down his tea and picked up his phone dialing Francis' number. He picked up on the third ring. "England? Why are you calling me at . . . 11:30 at night?"

"Hey France, that's woman's vase . . . You still have it don't you?"

"What? Whose vase? What woman are you talking about?"

"Eleanor."

Francis's voice went dead on the other side of the line, and Arthur almost thought he wouldn't get a reply when the Frenchman's voice came back on the line. " . . . Yes, I still have have it. I doubt Louis would have ever forgiven me if it had gone missing."

"It's strange, isn't it? To think that thing is all that's left of her . . . I'm coming over tomorrow to take a look. I'll be over there around ten if you want to meet up, so long as you think you can keep your hands to yourself, you dirty pervert."

"I"ll see you at ten." France replied, without betraying any sort of emotion. His serious tone of voice was so at odds with France's usual personality that England wouldn't have recognized it if he hadn't heard it a few rare times before. Contrary to what people like, Alfred the Idiot, for example thought, France did have a serious side to him. It just took a great deal of genuine emotion for it to appear.

And in the case of Eleanor, that great amount of emotion took the form of selective forgetfulness, apathy, and avoidance. Arthur sighed and sat back down, taking another sip of tea before returning his book, Britain's Royal Families. He didn't know but across the English Channel in the heart of Paris, Francis Bonnefoy lay wide awake immersed in the memories of a woman long dead . . .

Francis can remember Alienore perfectly. Every detail of her person can be revived in vivid clarity when he chooses to remember. Which only ever happens when he is extremely drunk and having a very bad day. He then blames everything on her. It doesn't matter that she's been dead for hundreds of years. It doesn't matter that she has absolutely nothing to do with the problem. He swears it's still her fault.

He can imagine her laughing at him from beyond the grave. Dismissing his troubles with the wave of her hand as she bends down to kiss his cheek as if he were a young child fretting over some small trifle.

Francis scowls. Why did Arthur have to bring her up? It's not like his time with her had been any easier than Francis'.

But he knows that now that the subject has been brought up, the memories won't go away. They'll sink into his dreams. Because even after her death, he's never quite escaped her. And sometimes . . . when he remembers the old things . . . the good things . . . he wonders if he even wants to.

**Notes:** Ok, first of all, Francis should have called Arthur "Great Britain" but not only does it sound awkward, most of the rest of this fic will take place in the 1100s, when Arthur's name WAS "England". Besides, Francis has been so involved with Arthur since forever, so I don't find it too much of a stretch so think he might still call him that even if it is technically incorrect. (In my head-canon, Francis calls Arthur "England" as does Alfred and probably some other colonies like Canada and Australia and Hong Kong - and maybe India? maybe?)

Right now, I'm working on chapter 1, as well as three parts of my Hetalia fanfic, Memories of a Fallen Empire. I'm also busy working on several Detective Conan fanfiction. I really, really need Betas. Like, really bad. So if you're interested please PM me. 3


End file.
